


Natural Convolutions

by stuckinabottle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Swap, M/M, freaky friday shit, sex in eachother's bodies with eachother?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabottle/pseuds/stuckinabottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Harry swap bodies. So naturally they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Convolutions

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to thank my lovely brand new shiny beta Tina!! She's on tumblr and ao3 as Itsallaboutzarry!

The smell of Harry is everywhere. It hits him like a punch in the face. It's not bad or good, well, Zayn's always kind of liked it. Familiar. Harry like. The sharp tangy musk, with undertones of citrus curls its way into his nostrils. There's also something inherently sweet to it that Zayn's never been able to quite put his finger on. Zayn inhales deep. He is literally in a fucking nest of Harry's scent. He blinks his eyes open, he's in Harry's room. In Harry's flat. The one in London. Rubbing at his eyes blearily with his hands, he looks around the room; for evidence of anything really.

He wrecks his brain, urging himself to remember any of the prior evening's events. He can't. His mind is a foggy cloudy haze. He fluffs the pillow and stuffs his face back into it, but there's an insistent pressure in his bladder. Eventually he eases himself out of bed and stumbles into Harry's bathroom. He trips twice on the way there and wonders when he got so damned clumsy. A veritable disaster of half used hair products and a ridiculous amount of assorted varieties of ChapStick are scattered about the counter and sink area.

He pads to the toilet, shivering at the cold tiles beneath his bare feet. It's when he looks at his dick that he screams and leaps back from the toilet, spraying piss everywhere. His dick has never looked like that before. Brown curls at the base of it and kind of longer and a bit less girthy at the tip. Although who is he kidding he's only sporting a morning semi, he has no clue. That's when he notices he has tattoos, ones that definitely don't belong to him, scattered about his wrists and a huge fucking moth or butterfly– whatever the fuck it is– on his abdomen. Zayn lets out a strangled noise and he only hears a tortured yelp in Harry's voice. He finishes emptying his bladder, not even bothering to shake it before flicking all the lights on in the bathroom and getting a good look at himself in the vanity mirrors.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," comes Harry's slow drawl. Zayn stares in disbelief at the mirror. Harry's mouth open in a surprised O shape. He pinches at his cheeks and watches reddish marks bloom at each offended place he marked. He slaps himself. To his surprise his, no, Harry's cock jumps. A tingle of pleasure goes down his spine, Harry's spine. He pretends that didn't just happen.

A few minutes later and Zayn in Harry's body is sitting on Harry's couch trying to figure out Harry's lock password on his cell phone. Of course it ends up being something completely stupid. After a few terrible misfires, Zayn finally spells out 'lads' with the proper number of a's. He leans into the couch and winces. What the fuck is wrong with Harry's back? It's all stiff and wrong and uncomfortable, which is weird because Zayn's always rather thought Harry's couch was pretty chill and comfy – apparently not. He had always attributed Harry's standing all the time to hyperactivity, not stiff back.

Grumbling, he thumbs through Harry's phone, which has a surprisingly small number of dick pics, but maybe Zayn shouldn't be the best judge of that. Finally he dials his own cellphone number, because if he's in Harry's body, he can only assume Harry's in his body, right? Oh no, what if he's dead, flashes in terror through him. That means Harry could be dead as well. He quenches that horrifying realization. Steeling himself, he places the call.

It rings four times and no one answers. He tries again. "Hello?" a clear female voice answers the phone. It's his baby sister, Waliyha.

"Ummm..." he says.

"Oi, Harry, I have caller ID. Er, Zayn's phone does at least. Whatcha' want? Zayn left his phone here last night."

"Oh, I...well, I'm all set then. Ta," he mumbles before hanging up, he's only a little bit crestfallen he has no way to get in touch with his body. Which is a weird way of putting it, isn't it?

Thumbing through the contacts, he wonders who else he should call. That's when his phone rings, well Harry's phone rings. It's a song, some The 1975 garbage or whatever hipsterish hit Harry's into. He cautiously picks it up after the fifth ring. He is not to keen to listen to the rest of the song.

"Hullo?"

"Hey Harry, lad," Nick Grimshaw's voice says into his ear. There's muffled chortling in the background.

"Nick?" he asks hesitantly. Harry’s voice comes out thick and slow. In a flash of panic he wonders if he's on the radio. Probably. So he hangs up before Nick can utter another word.

…

After feeding himself some tea the one he usually likes, which he discovers quickly Harry does not like, Zayn settles himself in front of the television. Harry’s flat is certainly eclectic, but the man does have good taste in furniture at least. The couch is particularly homey, a favorite fixture that he’s always found himself attracted to. What is he to do? He's certainly not going out in public like this. Maybe he'll order take away and try calling one of the boys; Louis maybe, since Zayn and him had been hanging out more recently. He ends up watching a movie. It’s a Boy Girl Thing is on. Zayn might as well do some research albeit Hollywood based on body swapping situations. It is not terribly helpful. He wonders for a moment if he should be more worried, calling friends or something. Somehow he thinks it will all end up sounding like a terrible practical joke. One that Harry would fail miserably at telling.

But he doesn't have to wait too long because around three in the afternoon there's a knock on the door –an insistent one at that. He's glad Harry had the intelligence to put a peephole in his door, he's not sure if his acting as Harry is great enough to not attract any unwanted attention. The delivery guy he could probably handle, anyone else might be trouble.

Zayn looks through the door. He stumbles back from the door immediately. It is him on the other side. Zayn had figured it would be very strange for him to see himself. He has to take a moment. He steps back and sucks in a deep breath. The knocking starts up again. Zayn finally opens the door, it's time to face himself.

"Hi!" comes his voice, animated and loud. His body crosses the threshold of the house and gives him a good once over.

Zayn thinks he might be nauseous. His body inspects him and leans in close to whisper, "It's you in there, Zayn, right?" His own lips brushing against Harry's ear. It's all too weird and it squicks him out. He shivers and takes a step back from himself and refuses to make eye contact.

"What happened last night?" Harry's voice comes out a little rusty. Probably because Zayn had been creeped out as all shit any time he said anything and it was dictated by Harry's voice. The chilling and painfully slow Cheshire drawl. All wide vowels and the melodic sort of lilt. His own voice is not like that, not quite so calming. He listens to the harsh flats and hard consonants of his own accent, as Harry babbles aimlessly about what he thinks might have happened the evening prior.

"And oh my god! This is so weird. This is just so strange," Harry takes a breath, even though he was still talking impossibly slow, especially for Zayn. Zayn was surprised he could even understand himself, since Harry had probably not realized how much Zayn normally has to adapt his accent so people can comprehend what he’s saying. He can’t focus on the words. Zayn can only see his mouth moving and his body gesturing animatedly.

"What the hell did you do to my hair?" Zayn asks, finally noticing the disastrous state of it. It's sticking up at all ends and looks like it hasn't touched a brush for days. He reaches a hand out to touch it, but stops himself short, because that would be weird right?

"I just, you know," Harry waves Zayn's hand around his head in a certainly more clumsy manner than Zayn has ever carried himself. He keeps miming brushing alternating with spraying. Zayn just keeps staring at his body. The uncontrolled movements, the way Harry's got Zayn's teeth worried into his bottom lip or when he licks his lips in concentration, pink tongue darting out and catching the corners of his mouth. Zayn's entranced by himself, his body and face at least. And Harry's body appears to be loving it. He flushes and attempts to keep the stirring feeling, coiling low and tight in Harry's gut away. It's bizarre.

"Are you even listening?" Harry finally asks. He's folded his arms, tapping Zayn's Doc Martens against the hardwood floor. He moves one hand to his hip and Zayn is sure that is definitely a Harry pose. He's never postured like that. Hip cocked out. Hand on waist. Weight shifted fully to one side.

"So, how do we reverse this?" he asks finally.

"The fuck if I know," Harry answers stroking the stubble on Zayn's chin. Then he begins to ramble again. "I mean like I don't even remember seeing you last night...or me. I guess. Or you in your body. If you ask me, we must’ve pissed some mystical type person off. You read loads of comics right? Any expertise? This is such a trip tho isn't it? Bound to be a good story one day I suppose."

"Not if you tell the story," Zayn scoffs a little under his breath. Harry smiles, well his body smiles at him, all crinkly eyes and a flash of his front teeth, which are kind of large he's noticed.

"Glad you've still retained your sense of humour in a time of crisis like this," Harry counters, "Now I'm not particularly knowledgeable on body swapping… but I did see 17 Again, not quite the same thing, but you know. We could like, fulfill a journey? Maybe we have a task to complete as each other."

Harry is pacing around the flat. Then he turns to the kitchen. "I'm going to cook. It helps me think," he explains reaching in and out of several cabinets. "Plus I'm starved. Zayn you really can eat a lot! I don't get how your body works at all."

Harry's cooking away. In Zayn's body. Which is entirely alien since Zayn has never cooked a day in his life. He's tempted to take a picture and send it to his mum or Perrie or Perrie's mum, but then he remembers that ship has sailed. Well it sailed not too long ago. The break up that is. The termination of the engagement. It was mutualish. It made sense. They never saw each other. Perrie wanted something more than this, as she quoted one of One Direction's earlier songs. Zayn was sure she didn't realize it. The particular combination of the three words is not especially uncommon any ways. He just felt rather ambivalent about the whole thing, which probably is a good indicator for them to part ways any who. He still wanted to be friends, but Perrie needed space she had told him. So he hadn't really been in touch the last month. Which was harder than he would have thought. To lose a confidante and friend who he had genuinely trusted.

"If you keep thinking so hard my brain's going to bust!" Harry says. He's stirring something now. It smells pretty good. Like his body knows what he's going to eat soon and for all intents and purposes it does. Harry’s stomach makes a loud growling noise which causes Harry in Zayn’s body to smile broadly. Zayn thinks if he ever manages to get his body back, his face will be sore from all the smiling.

They eat in companionable silence. Harry is much too busy scarfing down food and Zayn's thinking much too much about his life and what the fuck are they going to do? They're stuck in one another's bodies. Like some horrible Freaky Fridayesque nightmare. But that doesn't make too much sense; since he didn't think Harry and he were in a fight or much of anything recently. They'd been on break. Rehearsals were starting up in a few weeks. Zayn had been splitting the time relaxing at home in Bradford and also out in his London home. Harry had probably been globe trotting, ducking around in LA and what not. Everything was as it should be.

"So, have you any ideas?" Harry says, his fork clattering to rest on the worn surface of the kitchen table. He's finished his food. A lazy smile rests on Zayn's face now. Harry pats at his stomach appreciatively.

"I don't know it's not like I routinely body swap," Zayn snaps at him a little.

"Mmm. You read more though. I just assumed you might know something." Harry just shrugs.

"I don't think the stuff that happens in fiction is going to help us now, Harry." Zayn says Harry's name for the first time that day, at least to Harry inhabiting his body.

"Well I came up with a list of things we could do. We could run into each other. Maybe the impact would be enough– "

"Definitely not."

"Fine then. We won't do that. How about we go to a meditation or yoga place. Then we can let our spirits rise above us and maybe they'll return the correct bodies?" Zayn just stares at Harry. Or himself really. His body looks unsure of itself. That makes sense since it's not being controlled by its normal owner.

"Now this is my favorite idea. Just hear me out. We should have sex." Zayn chokes on whatever he's eating. "You know, since if we become one, maybe when we part ways we'll be ourselves again. Makes sense to me. The union of two people can set the world right."

"You just want to have sex with yourself in my body."

"No, I mean, the blessed congregation of two bodies...it's magical and..."

"Oh my god. Have you jerked off in my body?" Zayn says, eyes narrowing, boring into his own eyes that won't meet his.

Harry doesn't look him in the eye, "No, that'd be crossing a line..."

"Harry," Zayn chuckles then slaps Harry playfully on the side of the head, "You're completely mental." His hand feels tingly afterwards. He rubs it on his trousers to get the feeling to go away.

"Zayn, let's be honest. You're gorgeous. Who wouldn't want to have a chance to have sex with you or in your body?" Harry says.

"This isn't an interview Haz," Zayn sighs, it rumbles in Harry's chest. It sounds like Harry's talking to himself.

"No. I'm serious. Think about it. To become two again, we have to become one. It makes perfect sense. Plus why waste this opportunity? I don't wanna do the deed with someone else, I'd feel too weird about it..."

"Harry," Harry's voice cracks. Zayn thinks back to the times when they've pulled together on tour. The memories were hazy from alcohol or just forgetting, but they were still memorable. Seared into Zayn’s mind. Or about Miami, which they never have talked about. It's not that he hasn't thought about it. Him and Harry. Harry and him. The combination was enticing and gave him a heady feeling. Maybe he could have it. But before, he'd either been too scared or with Perrie. And he was sure it would fuck things up –band mates fucking would tend to do that.

...

Zayn wakes up in a tangle of limbs. Some of them belong to him, the others to Harry, judging from the tattoos and what not. He sighs when he realizes that he is still in Harry's body. The terrifying array of hearts and a book and anchor and what the fuck is that on his left forearm? He thinks he would roll over, if it weren't for his erection –no, Harry's erection in his body, pressed tight against his side. Correction, not pressed, more like grinding against his side. And does he really sound like that when he moans?

"Harry," he says, voice thick with sleep as he tries to dislodge himself from his sleeping and thrusting form. “Let me get up.”

"Don't wanna," he hears his voice mumble before snuffling a bit. The grinding continues. Zayn would be more open to it if they were in their own bodies or if Harry was actually awake.

"Harry!" he grits out, finally. He has to pee, but he's also sporting a miraculous hard on. Well, not him really, it's Harry's body after all, so it's definitely not his fault. Zayn elbows his body, yet to no avail, since the bear hug is still there. Finally, he does the only thing that he thinks will wake him up. From prior knowledge of course, he snakes a hand around, twisting it back, he begins to palm himself, the rutting continues, however the grip on his body does not loosen. So Zayn slips his hand into Harry's or his pants. He had forced Harry to wear pants to bed, when Harry insisted they sleep in the same bed in case, you know, they switched back because of the prolonged contact. Zayn had been too tired to argue. A loud groan and Harry's eyes flutter open, a sleepy smile on his face, Zayn's face.

"G'morning me."

Zayn grunts, and continues working Harry's long fingers over his own cock. He knows what he likes, so he flicks his thumb into his slit with applied pressure in all the right places. Sometimes he reaches down a little further and pays some much needed attention to his balls.

"Your balls are so sensitive, I'm jealous," Harry whispers, in between pants. Zayn awkwardly sort of nods. He's never known the sensitivity of other balls so he is not sure how to respond.

"I want to fuck me? Can I please?" Harry asks, Zayn's voice coming out hoarse.

"Umm," Zayn feels like his brain is going to short circuit.

"It'll be so good. I love getting fucked. I'll make it so good," Harry says insistently, pressing a kiss to Zayn's temple. Zayn doesn’t want to think of the other people who have done that. He frowns.

"This is so fucking weird," he says and takes his smaller body into his arms. He pulls Harry flush with him, and kisses him. Their lips slot together awkwardly at first. A first kiss of sorts for both of them, still trying to figure out the best way to navigate in these bodies. Zayn close his eyes and is strangely excited when his own tongue begins to explore Harry's mouth. It's sort of meta. Zayn's into meta, so he guesses this is all okay. And his mouth is all hot and perfect over Harry's. Slotted together, it feels right.

His mouth tastes like spice, sugary sweet with a hint of something darker. He wishes he could taste Harry's mouth. He licks into it, humming all the while. There's an edge of nicotine, and it sends a trill of excitement straight to his toes, which curl in response. He could kiss himself forever, and despite popular belief, he hasn't actually devoted too much time to thinking about this.

Harry trails sloppy open mouthed kisses down his own torso, making sure to lave over the moth tattoo. Zayn stares down in disbelief. He would laugh, but Harry bites at his hipbone, which causes Zayn to shiver and buck his hips towards Harry. Zayn's body grins up at him. Then Harry swallows his cock whole. He would probably have an objection, or some quip about blowing yourself, but any coherent thoughts are lost. Instead, he's threading his hands into his own mess of hair that's never looked worse, and praying that Harry never stops. He resists the urge to just fuck Harry's mouth or his mouth because the cock attached to him right now is longer than his own and he knows for certain his own body can't accommodate that much length. He thought so at least, but then Harry's sucking him down to the root, nose resting in the thatch of brown curls. Zayn almost comes.

Soon, he feels slick fingers at his hole, circling. Then when one enters, it doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it should. "Get this done a lot?" he asks. He’s truly curious, but he doesn't get an answer. His breath hitches when Harry pushes his knuckle into the passage. It's overwhelming, he can barely breathe. Cock down Harry’s throat and fingers deep in his ass.

"Maybe," Harry pulls off his dick to say, before humming around it so fervently Zayn can't even think let alone form coherent sentences. As Harry slips another finger in, Zayn is reduced to harsh panting and these strange mewling noises are coming from the back of Harry's throat. He wishes his own ass was that sensitive. If he shuts his eyes, it's almost like they're back in their right bodies.

"Just fuck me already, I'm clean, are you?" he grits out. It ends up coming out a lot less like a command than he had intended. It sounds like he's begging. A leery grin paints itself on Harry's face –his face really, which Zayn finds disconcerting. He nods.

The fingers leave his ass and he keens as the rush of air, the cool that replaces the fingers. Then the blunt head of Harry's, no, his own cock lining up at his entrance. He grits his teeth, as the burn starts. It's alien and he feels like he should be freaking out a little more. But soon the heat melts a little, turns into something else. Curling low and unfurling. His body is so hot, it is burning all over. He feels like he might burst into flames any second now. Harry is fully seated now. His head bowed over, lips slack, brushing against Zayn's shoulder.

"I've always wanted your cock inside of me," Harry whispers against the column of Zayn's neck, no it is Harry's neck.

"This is kind of a convoluted way to go about it."

"Convoluted, I like that word."

"And now you know what it means since you've got my brain," Zayn chuckles. Then the laugh turns into a moan, when Harry thrusts his hips forward at a new angle with more vigour than previously. Zayn cries out when Harry slams back into him harder than before. Through the white flashes of pleasure, the heat spreading through his body, Zayn can see his own face deep in concentration. A vein in his forehead popping out, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. And then he is coming, so hard, he feel like his body is ascending. He clenches around Harry, who mumbles something unintelligible, and then comes in his own ass, which Zayn is too wrung out to even make a joke about. And then everything goes black.

...

Zayn wakes up disoriented and feeling like he might wretch at any moment. His stomach is staging a massive revolt on him. He's also buried balls deep in someone. His cock twitches with apparent interest. The heat of the person makes him want to snuggle in closer and live here like this forever. His face is pressed into tan skin and ink that he can’t make out from this close a view.

"Harry?" he asks, his own voice sounds like music to his ears.

"Hihmpg?" Harry's voice comes out muffled, his arm partially covering his lips.

"It worked!"

"See I told you so. Sex is always the answer.”

Harry cracks a sleepy smile as he brings a hand down and ruffles Zayn’s hair. Zayn grimaces, he must look atrocious in this state. Harry doesn't seem to mind at all though. Instead, he wriggles about a little bit, as much as he can underneath Zayn. All of sudden, his eyes flash, like he’s realized something. Harry giggles, as much as any twenty year old can, it's rough in his post coitus haze. "Damn I fucked me really good. My ass feels all tingly. Was it as good for you as if was for me Zayn?"

"Duh." Zayn resists the urge to burst out laughing, so he ends up just shrugging. Then, he presses a chaste kiss to Harry’s temple. Harry responds by holding Zayn in a death grip against his chest.

"Let's go back to sleep, yeah? Clean me up first though. Nap and then we can fuck properly in our right bodies. How's that sound?" Harry asks, lips tickling the side of Zayn’s face.

"Perfect," Zayn grins.

**Author's Note:**

> So in terms of what magical powers actually like caused them to swap bodies in the first place... well even the gods above couldn't separate the two of them--so like yeah.


End file.
